The Sins of the Father
by Albaid
Summary: Set right after "Brass Tacks" (4x13) After his accident Peter is forced to light duty and Neal goes to work with Ruiz and the NYPD on the meantime. But wasn't James a NY officer? Bullied Neal/Protective Peter
1. Chapter 1

**I started this story eons ago, even before season 5 started in answer to a prompt at a LJ community, but it was so long ago that I'm not sure if I'd be able to find it again. It's an experiment on two ways, first, to write a story on English instead of doing it on Spanish and translate it later and to write action scenes, that is not exactly my strongest point. It doesn't aspire at nothing else but give the readers some fun and Neal whump, as usual with me.**

**Fic is almost complete, so expect next chapters soon.**

**I Hope you enjoy**

* * *

"Welcome to Organized Crimes, again." said Ruiz with a smile that was anything but welcoming.

"Always a pleasure" answered Neal with a wide smile that didn't match the one of the agent. He was not going to give him the satisfaction of showing any disappointment and, in fact, he was glad for the opportunity that working with them may give to him. If there was a place where he could find answers about the Irish mob that was behind the murder of Ellen, it was here. To his surprise, they would have to also work closely with the NYPD which had put Neal on the seventh heaven. He had worked with the police before, but on those times everybody was running: he was running away and the police was running after him, not exactly bonding moments. This time he would have plenty of chances to talk with them about Sam, James and even Ellen and gather valuable information.

Mozzie hadn't been that happy.

"What does the Suit think about this?"

"I've not asked his opinion" had bitterly answered Neal. They had had the same conversation before, several times actually and he was frankly annoyed by the way all the people around him seemed to walk on eggshells when it was about anything related to his past. "I made a promise and I'm going to keep it."

"Said the conman."

"It's different, it's Elizabeth. Even you would keep a promise for her."

"But I wouldn't have made her such a promise" Mozzie had replicated, pointing with his finger to himself. "And the _Even You_ part was rather offensive."

"Yet she has a point" had tried to explain Neal "I've already put in danger not only Peter's career, but also his life. I can't keep asking him favors and working behind his back is not only increasingly difficult, but also… unfair. On the other hand, if it's Ruiz the one who handles me…"

"You don't have to care if he gets in trouble for whatever you do."

"You are getting the point." Neal had said with a naughty smile.

Though if Mozzie wasn't happy, Peter was about to burst of anger. Ruiz had promised him that this was nothing dangerous, no drug dealers, no arms dealers, no human traffic dealers, only a small organization dedicated to illegal gambling who has more big aspirations than common sense and that wanted to expand its contacts so it could be used as leverage to have access to bigger fishes on the future, but by then Neal would already be back on his safe hands. What Peter couldn't say Ruiz was that he was not that concerned about the operation itself (Ok, a little bit, but he wouldn't let that be so openly known) but about having to handle Neal's leash to anyone else, just now when the kid needed it as short as possible. To let Caffrey without ankle for any amount of time without his own direct supervision was more than his old heart could endure.

But if Burke had known that this operation involved the NYPD then he had surely blown an artery. Neal had assured Peter that Ruiz had forbidden him to share information about the operation and since his relationship with him had already put Peter's position on the FBI in danger, he didn't want to give the other agent any excuses, so he will go with the flow, play his cards, literally this time, and get out as soon as possible while Peter rested from his car accident doing some desk work resolving mortgage frauds. And Neal was not lying; Ruiz had actually forbade him to share information about the case with Burke, but that had been after the conman had appealed to the deepest parts of his ego, implying that doing so diminished his own authority over the CI and the operation itself. Peter had made him promise not to do anything stupid and Neal had no problem to make that promise too, even with his right hand over his heart. After all, he was Neal Caffrey, he could not always play by the book, he could be impulsive, in occasions even reckless, but he was never stupid.

"Caffrey, this is Detective Portman" Agent Ruiz did the presentations "Steve, this is the criminal consultant of the White Collar Unit that is supposed to help us here"

Of course Ruiz could not stop himself of the bitter remark at the first opportunity he had. Portman coldly shook hands with Neal, but the younger man was not surprised not to receive a friendly welcome. He was sure that Ruiz had already given the detective the poor opinion he had about him way before they met and the last reminder was more directed at Neal, to put him on his place from the beginning, than to the police officer.

"Look kid, I've got people infiltrated on this operation for almost 2 months. At first it was supposed to be something short, a small illegal poker and dice gambling basement under a bar, until we heard they plan to do business with the Russian mob" Portman started to explain "Apparently this people dream that someday they'll have a casino in Las Vegas or something like that, so we called the FBI and we are working together since then. We already have a couple of guys inside and the Bureau has better resources, we finish our operation and they get the head of the organization. Everybody wins"

"Just let me know how I can help." Neal would take every chance to be as cordial as possible and wouldn't be stopped only because of a weak hand shake; he needed Portman on his side.

"We need something that can make their eyes to spark, to raise their ambitions a bit higher so they decide the contact the Russians for once and we have heard you are good at Poker."

"Let say that if the FBI had given a better use to the money I have… invested, we could have not only a better coffee machine than the one we have, but a full Starbucks in the office.

"Great. We need to attract better players, so the bets become stronger and more money starts to flow" Said Portman with a nod.

"This is simple, Caffrey" added Ruiz "You play Poker, you win enough times to make things interesting, you lose from time to time, enough not to get killed, and we do the rest. Are we clear?"

If not by the own agenda Neal had on his mind, this could have been one of the funnier and lighter cases he had worked on since his deal with the FBI. All he had to do, as instructed, was to play Poker and befriend the locals. To be honest, he felt sorry for the Martin brothers, the owners of the bar. They were guys with more ambition than brains that did actually dream with a casino in Las Vegas. Not only they had sketched the plans of one impressive aquarium at the entrance, but they already had a name for the first white tiger they would own! Unfortunately for them, their plans were actually working; Neal help was only the last impulse they needed to take the jump to bigger leagues. But the conman had already seen things like this before and knew very well that this had no way to end well, the Russians would eat them alive, still dressed and all and while now it all sounded like promises of future support as soon as the mafia deemed them unnecessary, the brothers would surely end at the bottom of the Hudson feeding at quite different fishes than they had expected.

On the meantime, he had plenty of time to talk to the police officers, specially the older ones, those who could have known first hand to his family. He started asking about Ellen; to himself he said it was not to raise suspicion but deep inside, deeper than what he wanted to admit, it was a way of finding closure for her death. And Neal was not disappointed, with every bit of information he was able to get closer to the women who she had been before hell broke loose. Not the Ellen he had known, with a boring life, working meaningless jobs, doing everything possible to go as unnoticed as possible, but actually a brave young woman full of life, in love of her job who had gone beyond her duties to help the community, yet had been willing to leave everything behind to help his mother to raise him when she was… or better said, those times when she wasn't.

And Sam, the real Sam, was close behind; Neal would have loved to know the man in person before he died and in some ways, he reminded him of Peter, always in search of the truth and believing in the system. It didn't took a lot of investigation on his part to see that Sam and Ellen had a relationship that went beyond a sharing of trust and information, some even believed that they had been dating before Ellen went WITSEC. Neal couldn't help to imagine the both of them married, raising children that would have grown like little cousins to him if things had been different. While Caffrey doubted Ellen would have done anything that could jeopardize them on his childhood, he liked to believe that perhaps after he escaped she could have retaken some of her relationship with Sam in secret. He still remembered how she had said him to trust Sam, and for all he knew, the man never married.

It was when he began to ask about James that everything started to go south…

Agent Ruiz and some of his men had set up camp in one of the offices at the Police Station that had been handling the case. It was conveniently near the bar in question and it made easier and quicker the communication between the police officers and the FBI. Cooperation between law enforcement at its best.

So when Detective Portman showed at the door the Fed promptly invited him to sit.

"Hi Steve, any news?"

"No, not exactly, is just that… I wanted to ask you something about your Consultant."

"Is Caffrey causing any problems with the case?" Ruiz immediately stopped whatever he was doing.

"Oh no, no! He's good at what he does. It's just that… He has been doing a lot of questions around. At first it was not a problem, but lately he had been stirring things that had been sleeping for thirty years and making some people uncomfortable"

"I will talk to him"

"Joseph, hear… the guys are getting nervous and I, we…" The Officer was having problems to bring the subject on. "We need to know if the FBI is investigating us."

"What! No! Of course not!" Ruiz stood from his chair, looking ready to break some necks, or at least one specific neck.

"It's OK then, no problem" Portman had visibly relaxed.

"No, it's not OK. Let me do some research, I'll see what con Caffrey has on his agenda and I will let you know."

"Thanks, I'll appreciate it."

That night, while Detective Steve Portman was preparing to see the game a message arrived into his cell phone. "Peter Burke, Caffrey's handler, ordered a search for former Detective Samuel Phelps and a DNA test that showed that former Detective James Bennet is Neal Caffrey's father. I hope it helps. Hugs to Shirley and the girls."

* * *

It was odd. When Peter had called Ruiz on his daily check up on Caffrey, he had been told that the consultant had asked for a sick day. It gave him immediately three possible scenarios: one, Neal was sick; two, Neal was sulking for having to work with Ruiz and three, Neal was up to something. Since the ex-con had never called for a sick day in all the years they had been working together the first one didn't sound so plausible; the second one was kind of flattering, to image that his CI actually missed working with him as his handler, but skipping work was not something he was about to allow and the third… that one was too Caffrey like and deserved to be investigated. The first thing the agent did was to check Neal's anklet… so he was at home after all, at least that was something. Peter grabbed his jacket and his car keys, he was already bored to death of those old files and anything that meant an excuse to leave that stupid desk was welcomed.

As Peter arrived to Neal's apartment he was welcomed by an ex-con that could have looked better, slightly pale and with dark bags under the eyes.

"Uhmm. Hi Peter, I didn't expect to see you here."

"I heard you were sick, so I brought you something." Said the Fed, inviting himself inside and putting a bag with groceries over the kitchen counter.

"And you wanted to see if it was true." Someone was cranky, so maybe he was actually sick.

"Nah, I already figured that, thanks to your old friend Candy" Replied Peter, pouring a couple of glasses with the apple juice he had bought.

"So, were you bored at the office?"

"Cannot I be worried for my CI?"

"You were bored." Neal chuckled, which prompted a pained grimace, even when he tried to hide it.

"Then, how are you feeling?" asked Peter, casually. "Should I have brought you chicken soup or a priest?"

"Nah, tummy aches. I guess stomach flu or something. Those nachos at the bar may not have been that fresh after all. One of the job hazards."

With the Federal Agent feeling more reassured they both chatted for a few minutes about nothing special before Peter decided it was a good time to leave. Neal seemed tense and stiff and while the ex-con had been kind of distant since Peter's car accident the agent wanted to think that Neal was just tired and not feeling well, so he excused himself to go back to work. They were by the door saying good bye and sending greetings to June and Elizabeth when Peter gave Neal a pat on the back as a farewell gesture. It had been a really slight one, yet Neal hissed and almost doubled in pain. That was not his tummy, that was his chest and that was not an ache; that was definitely pain.

"Neal, what's up?" Famous Peter Burke's instincts were telling him that this was not stomach flu.

"I'm fine, I told you."

"Sure, like you've never lied to me. C'mon what's wrong?"

"I may have gotten something bad, that's all"

"Something bad as a fist? Do you think I've never seen someone react like that before?"

"Peter, leave it."

"Raise your shirt."

"Peter, please." But the verbal sparring was stressing Neal and a wave of dizziness hit him. Before he noticed Peter had gently guided him to the couch and made him sit there.

"Neal, I can ask again as a concerned friend or I can order you to obey as your handler. Your choice" The older man was not joking, he was going to see Neal's torso and his CI unwillingness to show it was doing nothing but to prove his instincts were right.

Reluctantly but resigned the ex-con proceeded to slowly raise his polo shirt. After the first hints of blue and purple spots on Neal's abdomen Peter gently helped him to asset the rest of his body without him having to strain already sore muscles and then helped the young man to put the shirt back on his place with a deep sigh and a clenched jaw. For a long moment none said anything, Neal too embarrassed and Peter too angry to speak.

"How?"

"I may have gotten too cocky, made the wrong questions and annoyed the wrong people." Neal avoided looking at Peter.

"I can already see that. It's related to the case you're working on?"

"Yes it's… related to the case"

"Jesus, Neal!" The FBI agent finally blew out his exasperation. "I knew something like this was going to happen." Peter started to pace on the room. "What did Ruiz say?"

"He doesn't know" Neal saw that Peter was about to say something, so he interrupted it before he got a chance to speak. "I made a stupid mistake, I got it, the last thing I need now is Ruiz rubbing it on my face. Besides, if we finish this and he gets the Russians there is a possibility that the guys on the bar may not end dead on a ditch. They are not bad persons; they just had made wrong decisions and hung with the wrong people. I can handle this myself."

"So now you understand what is to be worried for someone by taking bad decisions that may end with them dead?" Peter really wanted to punch someone on the gut himself. "How bad it is?"

"Just some bruising, maybe a cracked rib" If he was put to think of it, they had been very careful not to incapacitate him nor leave marks on visible spots. "I just took some painkillers and they are already kicking in. One day of good rest and I'll be ready to cowboy up tomorrow."

Peter couldn't help half a smile at the use of his own phrase, but managed to hide it and ordered in a stern voice "At least let me wrap that rib, it will make you feel a lot better."

* * *

**A/N: I just learnt that in NY the Police Stations are called Precincts, I've mixed both because I'm not really sure which one use. I'll appreciate if some of the natives can enlighten a clueless writer 9,000 kms away**


	2. Chapter 2

**A new chapter arrived to the mail. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, I appreciate if you point them to me on the reviews or by PM to edit and correct, I still have no beta. Here you have a bit more Neal whump, just because I like to see Peter worried.**

* * *

For the third night in a row, luck was not on Neal's side. After have been winning almost every hand thrown to him on the past weeks he now risked it being suspicious but he couldn't help himself, too distracted to put all his energy on the cards.

He walked to the Precinct House that was handling the case, it wasn't far, yet he was still careful not to be followed. Nothing good of being spotted as an infiltrate in the middle of Russian mob business, not like the Russians were his main concern right now, anyways.

When he arrived the conman almost crashed with Detective Portman at the entrance, he was distracted and the officer was just stepping out of his car.

"Hey Caffrey, I heard you're being quite sloppy lately. Should I remind you that it's not your money the one you are wasting?" the detective spitted on his face.

"I've made enough profits to not deserve being bothered by that at this point" said tiredly Neal

"But it's at this point when you are risking our plan to get Yakov

"Some bad luck doesn't risk anything, unless you're not doing your part of the job, which is taking quite long, by the way." It was 3 AM and Neal was tired of all of this, all he wanted was to give his report of that night and clearly was not really thinking the words that came out of his mouth, though not regretting them.

With a speed that didn't give Neal time to react Portman grabbed him and in one smooth and trained movement pushed Neal against the car; face on the roof and with the right arm painfully twisted behind his back.

"Do I have the impression that the son of a dirty cop is trying to teach me how to do my job? I thought you had already learned your lesson the other day." The man breathed against his neck. Neal just gritted his teeth, not offering resistance to the restraint.

Detective Will Anderson, Portman's partner, came from his side of the car.

"And do you think we enjoy having you around here? I can barely stand the stench of your criminal sweat, but what could we expect would come out of a man who killed his own brothers?" Hissed Anderson. "You should be careful; I've heard that accidents happen even to FBI toys." After those words the man slammed shut the car door with all the force of his arm, pretty conscious of the fact that Neal had been grabbing the doorframe with his left hand to get some support from Steve's weight against him.

Neal let out a howl, but the detective holding him muffled it pressing his face further against the car. The ex-con struggled desperately to free his hand but Anderson took his good time before opening the door. His partner released the forger and Neal jerked his injured member to cradle it against his belly, making his best effort not to scream, even when tears of pain and rage had already escaped out of his eyes. A quick look showed that several bones were undoubtedly broken and the skin on the back of his hand was torn on his effort to free himself. Blood flowed freely, already soaking his black shirt and Neal felt flares of blinding pain travel through the nerves of his arm right into his brain. A wave of sudden dizziness flooded through his body and before his knees buckled under him Neal stumbled a step back and found support on the parked car. The conman stood there; half bended with his back against the vehicle, huffing and puffing on his efforts to control the agonizing pain and the anger he was feeling. Neal wasn't someone to feel helpless and hated to give that impression, but this was not the time for rage, not with so much at stake.

Portman looked uncomfortable. He only had wanted to shake the kid a little, to make him feel how unwelcomed he was for being not only a criminal, but also the son of a dirty cop, but seriously hurting him was going too far. The time before he had had to stop Will from keep beating the conman, three against one being already too unfair and now Anderson had done something that would definitely need medical attention. Yet the guy was his partner, so he had the obligation to stand by his side and support him, either he agreed with his methods or not.

"Next time you should be more careful with car doors, accidents happen if you don't pay enough attention." Portman put a hand over his partner's shoulder to slightly push him inside the building and make it clear that the game was over. "You should take care of that hand, I think Joseph is upstairs, he can take you to the ER."

* * *

Peter leaned back on his chair to rest his eyes from the screen for a moment when he saw his CI strolling into the office. He decided that this was a moment as good as any other to take a coffee break, he had planned to call him anyway to see how he was doing and maybe convince him to tell what had happened before.

"Hey Neal, what brings you here?" He greeted the conman once downstairs. The agent was surprised to notice the weak handshake and the way the young man kind of averted his gaze on a shy way that was very not 'Nealish'.

"I just came to bring some papers for you to sign before I give them to the Marshals"

Peter grabbed them and only needed a quick glance to look back at Neal in surprise.

"Health Insurance? What is this about?" It was then when he noticed the white plastic cast protruding out of Neal's left sleeve of his suit jacket. "What the heck is going on here!?"

"Peter, calm down, it's not what you think, it was only an accident." Neal answered in a low voice, noticing how all the White Collar Division was looking at them.

"Do you want me to believe that this was an accident? Please Neal, don't insult me, you know I'm smarter than that."

"Peter, please, it was an accident. I was at the Police Station, even Ruiz was there, he took me personally to the hospital. It's all on the report I brought you."

The agent gave a quick read to the pages on his hands, frowning.

"Two broken metacarpus, six stitches on the back of the hand and an almost severed tendon that required surgery." Peter sighed. "Care to explain how that 'accident' happened?

"Taxi driver closed the door with my hand still there" Neal smiled "Remind me to give better tips next time"

"Lots of accidents happening around you lately, hum? I know you Neal, you are not one to be stumbling on things or forgetting your wallet at home. If this is in any way related to whoever beat you last time I need to know it, remember you are my responsibility."

"And with things like this" said Neal pointing to the file on Peter's hand "It's a lot of paperwork"

"Yes, of course. Because paperwork is exactly what worries me now" Replied Peter, knowing he has no right to feel insulted, since it was him the one who used to play with that line.

Neal left the office in haste, leaving his handler baffled and angry, not wanting more questioning from Peter or to attract the curiosity of other coworkers. He wasn't a victim, never had been, never would be. Yes, he could be good at tempering his emotions and, sometimes, even controlling his impulses because he was a conman and if now he had to play the role of the bullied kid on high school he would, because all he had learnt about the persons that had been part of his past, of who he had been before becoming Danny Brooks, was worth it. He didn't need Peter to watch his back and was decided to honor his word of keeping him out of anything related to his father. Not in vain he had survived four years in prison; to bear a few more days of a bunch of policemen venting their frustrations was nothing compared with what he had endured there.

Peter had let his CI go without keep pushing him, though every fiber of him wanted to shake the kid into sense. Unfortunately his story had backup, one phone call to Ruiz had confirmed that the accident had been at the police station where Neal had gone to fill his report and get the anklet back after his assignment. While the agent hadn't been personally present, a couple of detectives had informed him of the accident at the entrance and he was pretty sure the wound was recent when he took Neal to the hospital. The Organized Crimes agent couldn't avoid a severe questioning of why he had not informed personally to Burke of the injuries sustained during service, only to discover that Caffrey, being Caffrey, had not showed him the medical report and said that it was only bruised bones and a couple of stitches, so no need to wake Burke up on the middle of the night. And if put against a wall Ruiz would have to admit that he hadn't even noticed Neal's cast.

When Peter hung the phone he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important he was missing. There was something that Ruiz had said, yet he had been too busy lecturing his colleague to get a hold to.

* * *

His blue eyes shined with excitement, all his senses were concentrated in the game and he was enjoying it. Money changed hands quickly and bets were more and more interesting. Word of mouth had paid off and new gamers had joined the table. It has started to become a privilege to be allowed on the Martin's basement and people were not betting about a round of beers, but amounts of money that the average citizen would never get to see together on a lifetime.

A commotion upstairs forced Neal out of his spell and brought him back to his place on the mission. The game was completely interrupted when a well dressed man of about sixty to seventy years walked down the stairs and asked with a gesture of the hand for them to keep playing. The white haired man was not at all the caricature of a Russian mob chief, yet there was something on the way he moved, on the way he looked that gave no doubt that this man was used to be obeyed without questions or delay. So it had finally happened, after weeks of luring they had drawn the Big Bear out of his den, from whatever place he had been hiding right into the arms of the FBI.

Neal stood up with elegance to greet the new arrival and his escort of goons, to everybody all he was doing was showing his respects, but the conman was pretty aware of what was about to happen at any second and wanted to be out of the way. Just in time, hell broke loose, a small army of FBI agents with SWAT as backup stormed into the small basement from a hidden back door without giving time at the mobsters to even draw their weapons. Neal couldn't help but flinch when in the middle of the yells a hand grabbed his shoulder, but it was only a FBI agent on a bullet proof vest shielding him and guiding him to the exit. The cold air of the night never felt fresher on Neal lungs.

* * *

Elizabeth Burke watched his husband as he absently looked at a distant point out of the window with a bottle of beer almost untouched on his hand.

"Coming to bed?"

"Oh, yes, on a second." but Peter didn't move, though he gave a sip at his beer.

"What worries you, hon?" said his wife approaching him.

"Nothing, you know, just… work."

"Neal" It wasn't a question, it was an affirmation.

"Yeah, Neal" Admitted his husband in defeat.

"Honey, weren't you supposed to take it slow for a time?" Huffed El. "Isn't Neal working with another agent on the meantime?"

"Yes, but I'm still his handler" Peter sighed heavily; he knew by then that he wouldn't be able to hide his concerns from his wife, so better share them with her. "Someone had been roughing him up and yesterday he just came to the office with another injury and saying it was an accident."

"Roughing him up?" Now Elizabeth had to admit, against her will, that now she was concerned too. "How?"

"His upper body looked like a map" Peter saw the grimace on El's face and regretted his choice of words. "Neal said it was related to work and since playing clandestine poker doesn't win you many friends I let it go for the meantime, but then the broken hand… I don't buy it was by pure bad luck."

"His hand was broken? His hands are part of his life! Will he be able to paint, to sculpt?" Elizabeth could not image Neal without doing his art, that would be like taking a part of him.

"I'm sure he will be pick pocketing in no time, but… I don't know. I get the gut feeling that there was something vicious on those injuries, not something that happens just like that."

"So you don't believe for a minute it was an accident."

"There are no coincidences with Neal Caffrey." Peter left the beer bottle on the table. "Yet Agent Ruiz said he was with him, it even happened at a Precinct house."

"Wasn't James a detective of the NYPD?"

Peter closed his eyes and resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. It was so obvious that only his wife could have pointed it to him! How in heaven hadn't he been able to join the dots before? The painkillers of his sore arm were the only ones to blame, definitely.

"Neal and I will have a talk tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the loong delay but in the past weeks I was gambling my whole future. I know it sounds dramatic but it was dramatic and kind of traumatic too. LOL. Now I know what I'm doing and where I'm living at least for the next four months my mind is clear enough to remember to update here.**

**Again... sorry, no beta. You can save yourself the rotten tomatoes, this little fic is not worth them.**

* * *

A couple of hours later all that Neal wanted to do was to go home. His part of the play had finished and he had nothing to do but to wait outside for Ruiz to finish with the details of the detention so he would handle him his anklet back and by tomorrow he would turn the page and be back at the White Collar Unit, where at least most of the people treated him like a human being. Sadly, the FBI agent didn't seem to be in a hurry and Neal was wise enough not to dare leaving without the anklet. The ex-con ventured inside the bar with the hopes of finding him, sure that by then the place would be secure, only to find that Joseph Ruiz had already left to finish the case at the dreaded Precinct. It didn't escape his eye that some of the same policemen that had given him a beating a couple of weeks ago were having their small celebration on the now closed down bar. Anderson himself was behind the counter pouring himself what looked like Whisky, but the conman pretended not to notice. What they did from now on was none of his business; he was already fed up of everything regarding cops.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the opinion of said cops. Just as he had left the place a rough hand grabbed his arm and jerked him.

"What about now? Just you and me, hand to hand. Let's finish this for one," the words of Anderson came slurred.

"Listen, I don't want problems," said Neal raising his arms, no point in trying to argue with a man drunk and armed. The officer took Neal's leather jacket with both hands and slammed him against the wall.

"Do you know who your daddy just killed?" Neal winced at the stench of Anderson's alcohol breath as he whispered right into his face. "He murdered my uncle, a good man and a good cop. And then you dare to come to my own home to ask questions about Bennet, the same James Bennet that left my two cousins without his father?"

Caffrey swallowed hard, aware of the fact that he was on a though spot. Luckily for him the other officers soon followed the cop outside and made him harshly release the forger.

"Let him go, Will, he's not our problem anymore" said one of the older men, perhaps their superior. "It's late, just go home and get some sleep."

The conman straightened his jacket and glared at the group as they led their partner inside. He better got back to Agent Ruiz and ended this crap for once. It was only a fifty minutes walk to the station, yet at the brisk and determined pace of Neal surely he could be able to make it in half, hands in the pockets of the black jacket and a frown. Anderson had no idea; how he dared… did he think that Neal had not thought long hours, days and years about the life his father may have taken? Like if shaking him up a little would be worst than leaving his small family, his dreams of becoming a policeman himself and entering a life of crime. How Anderson dared! He knew nothing, but he would seek the truth, he would seek justice for Ellen, for Sam, for Anderson's uncle and even for his father, when it all proved to be a complot.

The shrieking of tires against pavement woke him from his thoughts. Neal hadn't been exactly extra aware of his surroundings, but enough to have sworn that the dimly lighted street had been completely empty one second ago when he started to cross it. Next thing he knew was a pair of bright lights slamming against him and his entire world turning upside down and rolling around him before abruptly stopping with his body heavily spread against the asphalt and the ferric taste of blood in his mouth.

* * *

Burke" Peter was just taking his shoes off when the call came and he took the phone as fast as he could, before the noise woke Elizabeth up.

Hi Peter," came Ruiz's voice. "I owe you one, so I wanted to tell you that your pet con is off anklet and should have reported to me an hour ago, before I call to the Marshals."

"Hold on, don't call anyone yet" Peter was completely awake now and already putting on his trousers with one hand while holding the cell phone with the other. In what mess had Neal gotten himself now?

When the Taurus stopped at the entrance of the Precinct House Peter noticed half a dozen missing calls from Ruiz and the agent sighed to himself, hoping they didn't meant Caffrey was on even more trouble. No point in calling back now, since he was already there, better to deal with whatever it was in person. Just a few steps from the door Burke noticed a faded blood stain on the sidewalk that made him cringe. From the little he knew about the broken hand incident he would've bet twenty bucks that this was Caffrey's.

On his way he stopped to dial, for the nineteenth time, Neal's number, only to be sent directly to voice mail, just as the eighteen times before. Peter squinted when something on the car parked next to him caught his attention. It was an old Mustang of an ugly shade of light blue that could've been called a classic if in better condition, but it was not the model what the Fed was looking at, but at a little faint smear of reddish brown along the driver's door that could have been confused with rust at first sight. Peter touched a corner of it with his finger and the dry stain cleaned easily. On the back seat rested a couple of folders with the NYPD logo. "And I'd bet other twenty bucks that this is Caffrey's too," he said to himself, with his hands tightened on a fist.

"Peter! I've been trying to contact you!" Agent Ruiz almost jumped out of his seat when Peter entered the office he was using. "I'm so sorry to have made you come here at this hour. It was all a misunderstanding. The first time I called to the scene nobody was able to give me news on Caffrey's whereabouts, but now that the guys finished there and came to the Precinct they told me that your kid had been waiting for me at the scene and headed here twenty minutes ago.

"A misunderstanding, eh?" Peter was very pissed, and not exactly for driving there in the middle of the night.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for doubting Caffrey. He had been acting odd all this time and had me worried for a while but, between us, he did a great job and things where easier than we expected thanks to him. Caffrey must be about to arrive, if you want to wait for him here."

"I'll see if I get him on the way here." Peter was much more relieved nohe, but still something made to hairs on the back of his neck to rise. After all, he was glad he had to come to the Precinct and had the opportunity to see some things by himself. "And Agent Ruiz, I have a lot of things to talk with you later. I expect a full report on Caffrey's job and then we will discuss some matters that I'm sure won't be on that report."

* * *

Neal rolled onto his back, still confused by the force of the impact and waited a few seconds for the street lights to stop dancing around him before making any attempt to move. When he felt that his head was a little clearer, not quite, but perhaps not enough to make him roll again on the floor he made his first attempt to stand up. A sharp pain took his breath away before he got even halfway. Neal glanced quickly to his leg, hoping not to see broken bones protruding, but when he found nothing that obvious and he tried again to support his weight on his left leg then there was no doubt that the problem was with his knee, yep, definitely the left knee.

He didn't even need to try to stand again, a force coming from who knows where grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and lifted him in the air, in a very little gentle way. Neal tried to turn his head only to meet first with the face of Detective Anderson and a second later with a direct fist in the jaw. With his brain still cloudy after the violent clash on the pavement, and now with the added pain of a second strike the conman lost all poor sense of balance he had left and could not even try to stay on his feet as he was dragged as a sack to a dimly lit alley nearby, where he was brutally thrown against a wall.

"Come on, we are alone now, it's not what you wanted? Fight now!"

"Look, if you have any problems with my father, solve it with him, I'm not he." Neal tried to calm the detective but at the same time used the wall as support to stay on his feet and put his hands on guard, ready to defend himself if necessary.

"Do you think you're innocent? You should really be in prison where you belong. I'm about to lose my badge while you go around sticking your nose where it doesn't belong and drinking coffee in the same chair that my uncle used." The words entwined on the tongue of the drunken man. "Not even my partner trust me anymore, Steve assigned the undercover job to the FBI's pet criminal instead of asking me to let me work on the case."

"I think the problem is not with your badge, but with your alcohol breath."

"Don't you dare to tell me..." To be completely drunk Anderson proved to have very quick reflexes, Neal narrowly missed a second blow launched to him directly in the jaw, but he was able to move to the side just in time to prevent receiving it and using the same impulse of the blow he grabbed the policeman's arm and got to throw him to the side. Anderson staggered by the inertia of his own punch, but was able to recover and not to fall. He grunted something unintelligible and again launched against Neal with all his weight into a fury of blind blows. The FBI consultant received the first one right into his eye, but was able to stop the other with his arms and when the detective lost the power of his initial impulse he connected a hit right on the eyebrow and secured Anderson with a punch in the pit of the stomach.

Anderson bent in two by the blow to the stomach and blinked rapidly to remove the blood that covered his left eye, but through it he could see that with the power of his punches Neal had advanced the left foot, but was not supporting any weight on it. The detective was drunk, but he was no fool, he immediately took advantage of the weakness he had just found and swept with a kick the distance between him and Neal, hitting fully into the wounded knee. Neal couldn't help but to give a real howl of pain. So far he had known that the knee injury prevented him from moving it or from putting any weight on it, but he had not known to which extent it could get to hurt until the pain caused him to fall to the floor. For a few seconds his vision became a black tunnel that almost closed around him on his darkness and only came out of it when a kick in the ribs threw him on his side.

Anderson was about to give a second kick when a glow through the trash caught his attention. Meanwhile, Neal made a vague try to stand up with the help of his hands and the healthy knee, but his attempts were suddenly interrupted by the dull and intense pain of the hit of an iron bar across his back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Of course there is comfort! There is no point in hurt without the comfort but... I don't think that "tender" would fit Peter very much without going OC, so lets say... paternalistic.**

**My point is not to beat Neal endlessly but more to escalate to have Peter from concerned to mad. Actually the third chapter was about to be the final one but at last moment I decided to divide in two to add some details at the comfort scene, so I get it feels odd by itself. And finally... no, there is no point in writing whump fanfiction, I just enjoy it and I don't know why, but I've discovered I'm not the only one.**

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* * *

Burke was crossing the door of the Precinct when he saw a detective who had just come down the stairs before him as he pulled his keys and was preparing to get into the public-restroom-blue sedan. The rage he felt inside in that moment could not be perceived by the calm way in which he put his hand on the car door or the controlled tone of his voice, if something, only the dark of his eyes and the heavy frown.

"Excuse me Detective ... I think you and I must have a conversation."

Portman saw from the car seat the FBI badge attached to man's belt and the glance that swept the door frame of the car. He had no doubt who the agent was or what he wanted to talk about with him, it was obvious that at this point Caffrey should have told everything to his handler.

"Agent, please let me apologize, it was all an accident, ok? Could we leave this conversation for another moment?"

"I've heard the story of the so called accident before, but I haven't been able to connect all the dots yet. There seems to be lot of details that do not fit."

"I'm really sorry, Agent... Burke?" Portman was anxious, but he saw that Peter was absolutely determined not to let the matter rest and he couldn't blame him. "This whole Caffrey thing was meant only as a joke that some took too seriously and then... My partner is under a lot of pressure, has made mistakes and I have supported him, I recognize that now he's out of control and I've let him go this far, but he has big problems. Now he should be here to help me finish the report but he has not arrived yet, I have to go get him before he be fired. "

Peter saw the genuine concern in the eyes of the detective. Had not he been in the same situation many times with Neal himself?

"That makes two of us, come, let's go in my car."

The detective thought for a moment, but concluded that the fastest way to get rid of the interrogation of Burke and go find Anderson was actually accompanying the Fed. When he got in the car he told Peter the way to the bar of Martin, but otherwise the remaining minutes ran in tense silence.

"Wait, stop! That's my partner's car!" Peter barely managed to stop by the time Portman had already removed the seat belt and opened the door to get off.

Anderson's car was almost in the middle of the street, not far from the corner they had just crossed. Peter didn't spend too much time parking neatly; he simply stopped the engine and went after the detective. Portman looked puzzled the broken and bloodstain windshield,then he noticed that the car door was half open and wasted no time in going to check inside. Burke was about to ask him something when the muffled sound of a metal thing hitting against something, accompanied by a harsh moan coming from a nearby alley caught his attention and he just quickly run to the place, forgetting all about the detective.

Point blank he found a tall fellow wielding a metal bar strike directly against the back of a thinner man trying awkwardly to stay on his knees. Burke himself gasped and it was like feeling the blow firsthand while in his throat came a furious yell.

"Nooo!" It only took a second to recognize her consultant on the floor despite the pained wince that congested his face, but the other man didn't seem to have listened and with uncoordinated movements raised the bar again, the face transformed with anger. Peter only caught a glimpse as the iron bar rose above the head of the policeman and with a tiny twist of his torso his arms unfolded it to point directly to the head of his partner. His foot acted perhaps even faster than his thought, but in an instant his head was hitting against the body of Anderson as the two flew through the air to fall a few feet away, the FBI agent body over the detective. Burke jumped up, but the bigger man moved couple of steps on his elbows until he hit the alley wall with his back and he lay there with the wide eyes of a deer that is about to be run over.

"You, you bastard!" shouted Peter, pulling out his weapon with bloodshot eyes.

"Agent Burke, calm down, all is controlled now, I will take care of him." said Portman as he approached and knelt next to his partner, putting himself slightly between the Federal's gun and Anderson.

"You beat my friend after running over him!" Peter yelled, his gun still up in both hands and without any intention of lowering it, as still waiting for a good reason not to put a bullet between the eyes of the man who looked at him blankly from the floor.

"Okay Agent, I'll take charge. Your partner is hurt, go with him."

The words of the detective seemed to get Peter out of his trance, he looked to the floor and when he saw Neal lying motionless on his side he holstered his gun and ran to his knees beside him.

"Hey Neal, it's over, I'm here." The young man had rolled into a tight ball, trying to protect his head with his arms. It took the agent some effort to lower them enough to assess his condition. "Neal, look at me, look at me."

The conman blinked a few times before he could focus well enough and stared at him with a puzzled expression.

"Peter? What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? Saving your sorry ass, that's what I'm doing." Peter growled, trying to hide his concern with anger. Without releasing the arms of Caffrey he made a bit of pressure to lay him on his back. "Help me a little here. What does it hurt?"

"Everything" sighed Neal, not too eager to be on his back and looking forward to roll over himself again… if he had the strength.

Peter looked up and saw with satisfaction that Portman himself had handcuffed Anderson and kept him sitting against the wall, as he called for backup and asked for an ambulance. Burke and the detective locked eyes and they both nodded in silence. Peter could see that this was as shocking for Portman is it was for him. In the meantime Anderson was slumped with his hands behind his back and the gaze lost into his own world, as a bit of blood flowed freely from an ugly cut in the eyebrow. As it was, Neal had not fallen without a fight and Peter could not help a feeling of pride.

But when Peter looked back to his consultant his chest squeezed in distress. Neal's face was full of bruises, with one eye already swollen close and a big lump on his left temple. But beyond the visible to the naked eye what especially worried Peter was the marked expression of pain of the forger, how fast and shallow was his breathing and the slight tremors that shook his body. Shock. The thought ran through Peter as a chill, but though he could not see any apparent bleeding only God knew what damage the car hit and that son of a bitch with his iron bar could have caused and which internal injuries could be hiding, but by now there wasn't much he could do beyond keep Neal comfortable while help arrived.

"Don't!" Neal cried softly as he felt the shadow of Peter moving away from him.

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere," reaffirmed the agent while he wrapped the raincoat he had just took off over his CI, trying to at least keep Neal protected from the cold of the night, given that he had not been able to protect him from anything else.

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* * *

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.

Peter entered the room as soon as the nurses gave him the seal of approval, although they warned him that Neal would probably be asleep for a few more hours. Although at least the doctors had not had to cut and open him and anesthesia hadn't been necessary they had explained him that his partner would be in considerable pain, so he'd rather be sedated at the time of his visit anyway.

To his disappointment Neal seemed, if it was even possible, worse than the last time he saw him. Didn't know if it was the effect of the light blue robe against his skin, the pale neon light contrast against his now fully purple and swollen bruises, but for Peter Neal was even paler than when he saw him disappear immobilized into the ambulance. Considering the odds Peter knew he could touch wood that it hadn't been worse. To the broken hand and the various known bruises he now could add a torn knee ligament, a face of a boxer and kidneys so severely beaten that doctors had talked about the possibility of needing dialysis during the first weeks.

The FBI agent settled himself on the unoccupied bed beside Neal. He was tired to the bone and could use some sleep too and had to remind himself there was a reason he was in light duty right now, yet better here than in the waiting room and he was definitely not going home until Neal opened his eyes. Two times the nurses checked on his patient without him noticing a thing but when he woke up a few hours later there was a blanket over him. Peter folded it and used the room bathroom and a few minutes later, with his face washed he could feel that, if not fully rested, the edge o the exhaustion was gone. He was sitting on the bed sending a text message to Elizabeth when he saw some movement on the next bed so he stood and walked over there, to notice how Neal was starting to stir.

"Hey," Neal greeted with all the smile his swollen face allowed. Peter raised his eyebrows when he saw how his eyes were of a blue even more startling than usual of how contracted were his pupils.

"Hey you, how are you feeling?"

"Kind of... hurts," Neal seemed to need his time to think the answer and his eyes droop a bit, almost falling sleep once more, but he blinked a few time to awake himself before talking again. "Peter, you wasted your time playing baseball, your future was in Football"

"Sorry?"

"I saw you tackle Anderson. Thanks"

"Well, I could have arrived sooner and avoided all of this if you had told me what was going on," Peter replicated.

"I can fight my own battles," Neal furrowed.

"I see"

"I said I can fight my own battles, not to win them." And the naughty smile was back.

"Neal..."

"Sorry, but ... as you get into enough trouble on because of me. Nothing I couldn't handle alone. I didn't count with a psycho cop, that's all."

"About that... Detective Anderson mixed antidepressants with alcohol. He already was about to be fired before all this and so you know, he's now held in a rehabilitation center. Portman detective asked me to... "

"I will not judge all New York Police by a bad apple, if that's what he fear." interrupted Neal. "After all, it was a good week, I got what I wanted."

"And what you were looking was worth ending up in the hospital?" Peter snorted.

"Did you know that it was the same Precinct Ellen and my father worked in?"

"Now I know, and if I had known before I would have never allowed you to participate in this case."

"Well, that's why I didn't say anything."

Neal's expression, with a defiant smirk, made Peter want to strangle him with his own hands, but on the advice of Elizabeth he mentally counted to ten.

"Neal, I just wanted to believe that after all you can count on me to these things, I wish that at least you had not lied to my face when I asked you, not once, but twice." Peter said as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked his consultant into his eyes.

Even in the mud of neurons soaked in morphine Neal immediately understood what was Peter's move, he was turning the board and making him feel guilty. And it was working.

"I appreciate all your help, I really do, but I don't need a babysitter" Again he sounded like a spoiled child, but sore and under the influence of who knows how many drugs the argumentative capabilities of the con artist were severely diminished and he could not think of many things to replicate without compromising his loyalty to Elizabeth. "How do you think it was to be the guy who liked to paint at school? You think that made me very popular?"

"Do not make childish comparisons." Peter was very good at not falling in Neal's game; years of experience.

"Then let's go closer. How do you think it was to be the FBI snitch in prison when Kate died?" Neal had never talked about this with Peter had not been drugged up to the eyeballs. "How do you suppose it was every day, for sixty days to have to study who was behind me in the cafeteria line, three meals a day, fearing being stabbed from behind? Did you know that in a laundry you can be beaten with a sack of wet clothes up to knock you off and leave no marks?" Neal dropped his head on the pillow, he was too tense and straining the muscles of his back was like if a dull pain enveloped his entire body.

All the rage that Peter was feeling dissipated as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He also remembered very well all and each of those days. He had asked to the prison authorities to keep Caffrey in solitaire, for his own safety, but Neal had refused and there was nothing that the system could do to force him if he had not committed any breach of discipline. Peter had been furious and had been ready to personally go to the prison to shake some sense into the kid, but Elizabeth had stopped him. "You know Neal, he's a social animal. He has just lost the love of his life, if you keep him in solitaire now that's what will kill him," she had said. Burke had visited Neal as often as he could, had entrusted his security to each and every guard and authority possible, but he was not so naive to ignore the fact that within prisons it was its own world with its own laws, that no outsider could really control. Peter looked at Neal, who was looking stubbornly to the other side of the bed and then looked down. His eyes rested for a moment in a bag with a dark red liquid down attached to the side of the bed. He could have sworn it was a blood transfusion if he didn't know better than the content of the bag was collected urine from the catheter and felt at his own kidneys the brutal blow that had seen Anderson give him and remembering the rage he had felt then.

"And how do you think it feels to see that your partner is lying on the floor, about to have his head open with a crowbar?"

"Quite like see him suffer a car accident caused by the enemies of your father, I suppose," Neal replied, without turning to face him.

Peter ran a hand over his face, this time had fallen into Neal's game as a preschool child. Elizabeth would be furious if she saw them now, there would be another time to assign blames and for recriminations, but it was not this one.

"Here you are not in prison Neal, nor your teammates are like Keller or Wilkes," Peter put his hand on the healthy knee of his consultant and left it there, as if casually. "It's okay if you learn that sometimes there are situations in which you can let someone cover your back

Caffrey continued to look the other way, but this time he didn't want Peter to see that he had bright watery eyes and said nothing because he didn't trust himself to speak past the lump in his throat. The agent could feel the slight tremors in Neal and respected his silence until finally the conman turned to face him, looked him at the eyes and mumbled something that could be understood as an "I know."

"Let's make a deal," said Peter giving a light pat on Neal's knee. "Now you rest, sleep, let the medicines do their thing and when you wake up again, I promise I'll be here."


End file.
